


More Real than All the Years

by Lumelle



Series: A World Before or After [3]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Afterlife, M/M, Poor Celebrimbor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-06
Updated: 2016-03-06
Packaged: 2018-05-25 01:20:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6174596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lumelle/pseuds/Lumelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It has been three Ages and then some since Celebrimbor last saw Narvi, and a good deal of that time he spent in the Halls of Mandos. So it's really not that much of a surprise that he now finds himself hesitant to enter the Halls of Aulë, which seem so much more, well... real.</p>
<p>If there is anyone he would brave such crushing weight for, though, it is Narvi.</p>
            </blockquote>





	More Real than All the Years

**Author's Note:**

> Written mostly just to use the tag, I'll admit. That it fits well into my series is just a bonus. >_>
> 
> **Please note** that this fic contains vague references to past death and torture. It all happens in the afterlife, so it's kind of inevitable.

It wasn't that Celebrimbor had never been in a dwarven mountain before, of course.

If anything, he suspected he was more familiar with dwarves and their dwellings than most of his kin would ever hope to be. He had worked with Narvi, after all, had studied the works of dwarven smiths and carved the marks upon the doors of Durin. If there ever was an elf who could call himself at home in dwarven halls, he couldn't think of many who would have a greater claim to it than he.

However, a lot of time had passed since he had worked in Moria, time of glory and emptiness alike in the halls he knew so well, and it had been a long time since he had entered a place so… physical, he supposed was the thing. He had not been back to life for long, a century or two perhaps, and was still sometimes surprised by how very real the shores of Valinor were compared with the Halls of Mandos, how solid the ground under his feet. For someone still struggling with that notion, the idea of dwarven halls, with all their stone and weight and immovable solidity, was almost crushing in the thought alone.

He might have expected these halls to be like those where he had rested after his unfortunate passing, seeming real to him in the moment yet not quite on the same plane as his living existence before and after. However, from the first moment he stepped into the realm of Aulë, he knew without the faintest shadow of doubt that this was in fact a real place, as real as any work of his hands that he had ever formed. The mountain around him was vast and solid, the weight of it clear even as he walked down a hallway where the ceiling was needlessly high even for his tall frame, the walls wide enough he could not touch both of them at once yet he could swear they were closing in on him.

Celebrimbor had done some brave deeds in his time, had withstood torture longer than most would have, but this almost made him back away and flee. He took a few steps back, even, preparing to turn, but then hesitated. He was not coming here for his own sake, after all, not out of curiosity or even to once again share his work with the dwarves. No, he had followed the strange message for the sake of another, because he had been told someone awaited him, someone who was so dear to him yet he had thought them lost.

Narvi. For Narvi, he would withstand even this crushing weight.

The hallways were empty at first, the air still and so reminiscent of the deep tunnels beneath Moria that it made him want to weep for everything that had been lost, made him long for fresh air above ground for all that he had never felt such urges in his time with the dwarves. After he had wandered some time, though, he came across some dwarves, all strangers to him and eyeing him with mistrust.

A few of the dwarves murmured to each other, casting suspicious glances at him, but one of them stepped forward.

"I know you," the dwarf said, in that old Morian accent he had learnt to know so well once in his long life before. "You are the one who drew the gates."

"That I am," he admitted. "Though I have to admit I am not familiar with you, Master Dwarf."

"Aye, you wouldn't be. I was but a wee lad when you last set foot in Moria, but I did hear the stories well enough." The dwarf nodded. "You've come from the door, then? The one everyone whispers of?"

"I have, yes." He might have been surprised that this seemed to be common knowledge now, but then he supposed it wouldn't have been easy to keep it entirely secret if indeed elves were openly passing in and out, however few their numbers. And what was the harm, really? It wasn't like most dwarves had any inclination to leave these halls, for all that for Celebrimbor they seemed little more than a prison. "And I seek the one who forged those gates with me."

"Narvi, aye. I suspected you might." The dwarf nodded. "Continue straight down this hallway, and turn right at the statue of Durin. No doubt you'll find Narvi in the smithies, or someone who can direct you to him."

"Thank you, Master Dwarf." He nodded his thanks and continued on his way, now with slightly more purpose to his step. This was no idle tale or strange dream, then, nor was he on a fool's errand. Narvi was here, waiting for him, and that was all he needed to know.

It was simple enough to find the grand smithies, following the sound of hammers from the statue he'd been instructed to turn at. And if he'd been impressed at the forges and smithies of Moria, this was far beyond his imaginings. Hundreds, no, thousands of dwarven smiths at work at once, some in grand halls with large groups of them working on the same thing at once, others closed off in smaller smithies scattered about. Some of them eyed him with the same mistrust from earlier, but others, either those who had known him in their life or heard the stories, were all too happy to direct him forward, if indeed they could hear his questions over the clamour of metal.

He was hardly surprised to find Narvi in a small workroom, drawing up plans for something, no doubt some ambitious project that would have even the other dwarves gasping in awe. As Celebrimbor stepped in, Narvi didn't even look up from his plans, just grunted. "Go away, I'm busy."

"Go away?" Celebrimbor couldn't quite hide the small hitch to his breath at the sight of Narvi after all this time. "But I've come such a long way just for you."

Narvi froze at the sound of his voice, then spun around with surprising speed for a dwarf. "Celebrimbor?" His voice sounded weak, and oh, that should never have been the case. He had never heard Narvi like this, not even on his deathbed, when Celebrimbor had wept and pleaded and Narvi had told him to stop his useless blubbering.

"Myself, yes." He took a careful step forward. "You — you look just the same." Better, even, than in his last days, with age and strain wearing him down to a mere husk of his stronger years.

"I would say so do you, but — I'm not even sure if I remember." Narvi closed his eyes, leaning back against his table. "It's been so long, I cannot even know the years…"

"Three Ages and then some." Celebrimbor swallowed. "I… I am sorry, truly, that I did not come before."

"You didn't have the way or the knowledge. Besides, I heard you got yourself killed, you foolish thing."

"That I did." No use denying it, after all. "I have only been back to life a couple of centuries."

"So clearly you couldn't even try to return to me until now." Narvi shook his head. "And I didn't think it would be possible, myself, not until Thorin and his nephew came here and started moaning their lost loves. I'd almost forgotten you by then, and only they reminded me."

"You lie." Celebrimbor kept his voice soft, stepping closer. "I know you too well, Narvi. Even if you will not look at me, I know you are lying."

"Of course." His voice was even softer, now, and if Celebrimbor had not been so close, he might not have heard the words at all over the never-ending bang of hammers nearby. "I never forgot, not for a moment. Everything else I might forget in these Halls, but you I never did. I just… didn't dare dream, or make plans of any kind."

"And yet, here I am." He reached out to take Narvi's face in his hands, felt the familiar features at his fingertips and the beard scratching against his skin. "Would you at least look at me, then?"

"I'm afraid if I do, you'll turn out to be a dream."

"That is a fear I know all too well." For all that he knew these Halls to be real, more so than most places he had ever known in his long life and after, this, the sight of Narvi in front of him at last, seemed unlikely to him. "Then allow me to stay here and hold you, until you are convinced of my reality."

"I suppose I've no choice, do I?" Narvi leaned closer, then, strong arms circling Celebrimbor's waist, and he reached his arms around his dwarf in turn.

They were quiet for a long while, both focusing on the other's warmth and touch. "I never loved another, you know," Celebrimbor finally said, not even sure if Narvi would hear him. "An entire Age I lived without you, yet I could not give my heart again, because you had taken it with you."

"I am a dwarf, after all," Narvi murmured against his chest. "We are possessive bastards, every last one of us."

"That, I already knew." He leaned down to press a kiss to Narvi's hair. "An elf only truly loves once, and so, as I have been told, does a dwarf. We were always going to find each other."

"Aye, we were. If not before, then in Arda remade."

"And now, we can await it together." And now the endless years until that didn't seem quite so daunting, just as the weight of the mountain hosting Aulë's halls did not feel quite so crushing now.

"Truth be told, I'm in need of a partner." At last, Narvi leaned back enough to actually look at him, eyes twinkling with mirth behind unshed tears. "There's a project I've been commissioned to make, you know, one more amazing than anything we ever did in our life. Was asked by Mahal himself, I was, since he's always so busy with other things. And for all that I know my own skill, I can't help but think that this one requires another pair of hands."

"You know I will always work with you, no matter what." Celebrimbor smiled, and for the first time since one dark day in the First Age of the world, his heart felt truly light. "What is it you need me for?"

Narvi let go of him at last, though he kept one arm at Celebrimbor's waist, herding him toward the worktable. "A project I already know we can accomplish, my heart, and yet more amazing than anything we ever did before."

Celebrimbor leaned closer to look at the sketches, realising that for their large number they all seemed to show the same thing in different iterations. Drawn all over the papers in Narvi's familiar hand, time and time again in various forms and shapes, was a door.

"I have been asked," Narvi said, his voice clear as a bell against the background of hammers and anvils in the halls without, "to build the Doors of Kíli, so named after the first one to venture out of these Halls, so that the path of Yavanna might be only hers again."

Celebrimbor smiled. "Oh, I don't know. It seems like a project such as this would take quite a while to complete. The entrance itself should not take long, but to make the doors perfect for it is no small feat."

"Aye, I suspect so." Narvi grinned. "Luckily, I have nothing but time."

"Indeed," Celebrimbor replied, and for a moment, he almost felt as though he could see all through the mountain that had seemed so solid before, could see all the dwarves busily working and playing and resting and the clear blue sky above, stretching to infinity. "All the time we need, at last."

In that moment, all the glories of Moria or the brightest elven halls could not have compared to the shine and glimmer of the small, dusty workshop around him and the light of Narvi's smile.


End file.
